Forgiveness
by Kathryn Margaret
Summary: Mary apologizes to Sherlock for shooting him. Very OOC, and my first fanfiction, but the idea suddenly came to me and I had to write it.


Mary Watson sat on the couch watching a television show about a home decorator when her husband sat down on the couch next to her. Unlike in their dating days, John didn't even try the silly attempt of yawning and stretching out his arm behind her, but reached behind her confidently and pulled her close.

As always, Mary felt warm and secure in his grasp, and as he kissed her head, she smiled contentedly. Without a doubt, John Hamish Watson was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

But on this snowy December evening, something was nagging at her. John and Sherlock both seemed to have forgiven her for that fateful night a few weeks before.

When she shot him. She shot William Sherlock Scott Holmes, her husband's best friend.

She had lost it. Feeling completely caged in, Sherlock had tried to stop her, but Mary had panicked. And shot him.

She pulled slightly away from John, and he looked at her. "You okay, hon?"

Mary stood up. "Yeah, I just…I'll be right back."

She walked to the closet and pulled on her red jacket resolutely.

As she pulled on her gloves and scarf, John stood up. "Mary, are you…?"

"I'll be okay, John."

She walked out into the snowy December eve and thought about hailing a cab.

But no, she needed the extra time to think about what she was going to say.

But before she had anything settled in her mind, she was at the black door with the gold-plated 221B on the front.

She walked in and was relieved when she managed to slip by Mrs. Hudson undetected.

In the next room, on the phone, Mrs. Hudson was completely oblivious as Mary started up the stairs.

She heard the violin playing, but as she hit a particularly creaky step, the playing stopped. She continued up the stairs, still not knowing what she was going to say, but knowing she had to say something.

By the sound of the footsteps, Sherlock guessed that it was Mary who was coming up the steps.

_Mary._

When he had come back from taking down Moriarty's network, he had at first been a bit hurt that John had moved on without him.

She had seemed to make him happy, so he accepted her, though he knew she was a liar.

About what, he didn't know, but he wanted John to be happy.

And Mary did that for him.

But then she shot him.

He understood why, of course.

But something deep within him was hurt. Something below the surface, that he didn't allow himself to examine, much less anyone else see.

But that night, he had pleaded with her, and almost as a montage, everything they had been through flashed through both of their minds.

But she lost it. And shot him.

It wasn't quite in his heart, he would have been dead.

But it might as well have been.

He felt like he had lost a friend, reminding him why he didn't allow feelings to have place in his life.

She could have killed him.

She could have _killed _him.

He understood.

But it hurt deeply, leaving a pain that stayed long after the bullet wound.

Even as he saw the happy couple quite often, he pushed the pain down.

It wasn't as if he hadn't hurt others, after all.

He tried to compartmentalize. Tried to bury it in the grounds outside his mind palace.

But it hurt. Deeply, like a raging fire.

There was a light tap on the door and Sherlock continued playing his violin, pretending not to notice.

Mary knew he was ignoring her. He had heard her knock.

He always did.

And yet he kept playing.

She wasn't welcome, but she couldn't leave.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the room where Sherlock sat, playing his violin.

"Evening."

Sherlock set his violin to the side.

"Good evening, Mrs. Watson. Is John alright?"

Mary winced at the formality in his voice and words.

"Yes, he's quite alright. Listen, Sherlock…"

Sherlock stood up and walked for the kitchen. "Care for some tea?"

Mary followed him into the kitchen, and leaned against the doorway.

"Sherlock. I don't know how to do it. It's not as if you can go to Hallmark and get an 'I'm sorry I shot you' card. But…I'm so, so sorry."

Sherlock heard an intense tone in her voice, and paused his perusing of the refrigerator. But he kept it as a cover, so she couldn't see any leak on his face as powerful emotions rose up deep within him.

Tears began to sparkle in his eyes, and he wiped them away quickly. Conceal, don't feel…

John was all that mattered…it didn't matter…

He turned back to see Mary, with tears in her eyes.

And suddenly, it all came rushing out.

A quelled sob suddenly released from him.

It was worse than Mary could have imagined. She had come for, admittedly selfish, reasons. She had felt so awful and guilty for shooting the best friend of her husband.

But seeing the undefeatable and unemotional Sherlock Holmes beginning to cry was all too much for her.

"Mary." He said, and hearing her own name somehow shattered her already hurting heart.

He stepped closer, and though Mary wanted to step back, she just couldn't.

"I thought we were friends."

Mary reached up and wiped the tears that were streaming down her own cheeks.

"Sherlock, I…"

"All we'd been through. I mean…"

Mary knew what he meant, even without words. Sure, they had not known one another long, and John was their gravitational force at the center of any friendship they had, but they had an instant bond from the time they had worked to pull John out of the fire together.

The motorcycle ride. Then the wedding. And getting to know him, to see past his tough exterior.

But then Mary's past came back to bite her, and she had lashed out in a panic.

She hated herself for what she had done. She really did.

And to see how devastated Sherlock truly was…she could barely take it.

Sherlock hated showing any weakness, but he couldn't stop the tears that were choking him. Either they would completely choke him, or he had to let them flow.

The woman in the doorway began to sob as well, and Sherlock let it all completely out.

There they stood, in the flat where so many memories were, both sobbing.

When they finally finished, Mary looked up at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I am so sorry. There are no words…if I could take that night back…I would never…" She began choking again, and Sherlock crossed the room.

He enfolded her in his arms before he even knew what he was doing, and she hugged him tightly back.

This time, she was the only one who sobbed, releasing all the remorse and guilt she had bottled up inside her.

When she finished, Sherlock continued holding her.

Mary felt so sorry for what she had done. Sorrier than she had ever felt in her life. She had truly wounded this man, and here he was, holding her.

She finally managed to stop crying, and he shook a little, crying again.

She hugged him tighter, and when he managed to stop, he pulled back.

"I forgive you." He said.

Mary gasped and he smiled at her. "Please don't start crying again."

As Sherlock said the words, he felt peace and healing flood the room. The wounds he had carried around with him for the past few weeks dissipated, and he truly felt complete restoration. This time, she gave him a hug, and he felt a complete healing come over both of them.

Mary pulled back and looked Sherlock right in the eyes. His blue eyes were sparkling, and she knew he meant his forgiveness. And also that he knew she was sincerely remorseful.

"You are such a wonderful man. A wonderful, wonderful man. I just wish I had come sooner and gotten this cleared up. I'm so so…"

"You're forgiven, Mary." Sherlock said her name warmly, and Mary took a deep breath.

"Forgive yourself."

Mary wiped her eyes and Sherlock smiled at her.

Still, Mary couldn't completely let it go. Not yet.

"Sherlock…thank you for forgiving me. For John's sake."

Sherlock's gaze darkened slightly. "Mary, I'm forgiving you for you. That act of not caring. That was for John. But this is for you. You are a good friend, and any friend of John's is a friend of mine. I do hope we can be friends."

Mary wasn't entirely sure this was Sherlock.

"Now, as long as he never finds out I cried like a baby."

Yes, this was Sherlock.

"Yes, we can be friends. I would really…" She started getting choked up again. "Love that."

As Mary walked for the door and Sherlock stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a similar montage of their meeting moments, motorcycle ride, and every other moment of friendship came back to both of them, but in a new and different light.


End file.
